


push me or just pull me

by ahausonfire (thisiswherethefishlives), DizzyRedhead



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (Emphasis on the Trying), Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Bitty Tries to Love His Frogs Equally, Caitlin Farmer is Beloved by All, Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Dex is a Needy Bottom, Feelings, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Getting Together, Gratuitous Lack of Communication, Idiots in Love, Lardo is the Best Bro, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mandatory D-Man Bonding, Oblivious Hockey Bros, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Pining, Ransom & Holster Have a Deep and Abiding Love, Ransom is Thirsty, Recreational Drug Use, Risky Behavior, Rolling Pins as Weapons, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Stress Baking, The Team is Overly Invested in Dex and Nursey Getting Along, Ultimate Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/ahausonfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: In which the team is completely oblivious to the amount of sex Dex and Nursey are having... until they aren’t.(aka: five times Dex and Nursey have sex in semi-public places and one time they don’t)





	1. The Basement

**Author's Note:**

> **DizzyRedhead:** So this was originally intended to be a “five times Dex was a needy bottom and one time the team found out” fic but it kind of evolved on us. A little bit of the original intent shows through, though. Big thanks to ahausonfire for letting me invite myself along to her idea, for being basically an ideal collaborator, and for having excellent smutty prompts and writing the other bits so I didn’t have to (and doing it superlatively). Thanks also to raspberrycordial for the faithful cheerreading and for wanting to know what happened next (you know that’s my kryptonite).
> 
> **ahausonfire:** This whole fic has been an adventure of friendship and collaboration that stemmed from a really simple concept - I wanted to write a 5+1 fic where Dex was a needy bottom and the rest of the team was oblivious… but I didn’t feel up to actually writing the smut? Lucky for me, I have excellent, talented friends, and what I saw as whining, DizzyRedhead saw as an opportunity (oh, and what an opportunity it turned out to be!). I am eternally thankful, because this ended up being so much better than anything I could have written on my own. So, yeah. Thank you to DizzyRedhead for letting me play with the rest of the team (that sounds a little dirty… I like it) while you did the hard lifting (still a little dirty) of filling my smut prompts. Also, to echo the above, thank you to raspberrycordial for being an excellent sounding board throughout this wild and crazy ride. Without the two of you, this would never have been written.

Dex being in a bad mood… well, it’s nothing new.

Bitty _knows_ this. Logically, he understands that people are wired differently, and that while some people prefer to internalize things, Dex is a little more vocal with his displeasure. And Bitty _understands_ that, but it doesn’t leave him any less miffed when Dex storms downstairs to fix the washing machine - Nursey stumbling behind him, mumbling apologies under his breath.

With a huff, Bitty turns back to the dough he had been working on, careful to restrain himself from overworking the dough in response to the melodic tones of Dex yelling at Nursey that fill the kitchen.

“Brah,” Holster says as he walks into the kitchen, grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge before taking a seat at the table, “Dex needs to get that stick out of his ass.”

“That boy’s wrapped so tight he wouldn’t know what to do with something up his ass to begin with.”

It’s more than Bitty had intended to say - honestly, his momma had taught him better than that, and his MooMaw would be _scandalized_ \- but there’s something about the tightly wound animosity between Dex and Nursey that has him on edge. He’d feel guilty about it (or at least he’d try to feel guilty about it) but the way that Holster cackles against the choked-off yelling from downstairs just fuels him.

“Honestly, he could probably benefit from putting something up there, but can you imagine the look on his face? At the _suggestion_? Bless his heart.”

“Ooooooooooooh,” Ransom says as he strides into the room, dropping into the seat beside Holster before helping himself to Holster’s Gatorade, “Bitty’s in a mood if he’s talking shit. What did I miss?”

Before he can answer, there’s more muffled yelling from downstairs, this time with Nursey’s voice raising to meet Dex’s. It sounds ugly down there, and completely unnecessary, but then there’s a loud thud and silence.

“Now, which of y’all wants to go down there to help hide the body?”

Neither Ransom nor Holster seem interested in checking the carnage below, and it’s with a heavy and deeply resentful heart that Bitty divides the dough in two.

It’s not that he wants to resent the frogs. It’s just… Bitty works _so hard_ to rise above. His ability to compartmentalize and neutralize his anger is, quite frankly, the only reason he survived being gay in the south. There’s no room to lash out when your daddy’s a football coach and your momma’s a wilted debutante.

It’s part of the reason he’s always found Dex’s attitude so draining - his bad attitude is a luxury, and sometimes all Bitty sees when he looks at Dex is Straight Privilege. It makes his skin itch.

All the same, in the time that Bitty’s taken to think on the situation (and to wrap the dough portions for chilling) it’s been quiet downstairs. _Too_ quiet.

The part of Bitty that’s never been able to air his upset and his anger and his disappointment wants to let them go on like this - quiet and deadly in the basement as he putters around above them… but the part of Bitty that actually cares what happens to Nursey and has _seen_ what Dex is capable of with a wrench in his hands knows better than to leave them alone.

He doesn’t trust Derek Nurse to have the self-preservation God gave an ice cube in the desert. Honestly, that boy is too soft and ‘chill’ for his own good, letting Dex steamroll over him without protest time and time again.

Shaking his head, Bitty makes sure that the dough is safely in the fridge to chill before squaring off to face the basement door.

Days like these, he really hates being the ‘adult’ in the Haus.

* * *

“More,” Will demands. He wants to move, wants to get Derek’s fingers deeper, wants to fucking _ride_ Derek’s hand until he comes. But he can’t. Bent over the washing machine like this, Derek’s free hand planted between his shoulderblades to pin him down, he’s practically immobilized. All he can do is grind back a little, feel a little more of Derek’s long, thick fingers stretching him open.

“More?” Derek echoes, his voice amused. “Somebody’s greedy. I’ve got two fingers up your ass and you’re asking for more.”

Will grits his teeth, but he can’t hold back the yell that escapes when Derek curls his fingers to brush over Will’s prostate. “Hurry up and make me come before somebody comes down here.”

Derek chuckles, dragging his fingers slowly out. The click of the lube cap is Will’s only warning before Derek starts working a third finger in. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think you’d like that.”

“Fuck you,” Will shoots back, an instant reflex.

“Just think about it,” Derek says, and Will hates how calm and level his voice is, almost as much as he hates how much this is turning him on. “Ransom or Holster or Bitty could come down those steps any time. We might not even hear them, you’re being so loud.”

A shudder rips through Will’s body at the thought. As much as he hates to admit it, the idea of someone watching them just makes it hotter, dirtier. “I’m not that loud.”

“Oh, yeah, you are,” Derek says, his voice smug in the way that Will hates. “The whole team could come down those stairs and watch me take you apart and you wouldn’t even notice if I had my tongue or my fingers in your ass.”

“Big talk from someone who’s got three fingers in me without making me come,” Will returns, but he can’t quite work up as much venom as he’d like when Derek’s fingers graze his prostate again, heat shooting up his spine. “Come on, Nurse, put your back into it.”

Derek huffs out an irritated breath and pulls his fingers out completely. “All right, Poindexter. You asked for it.”

Will doesn’t have time to protest before hearing a familiar crinkle behind him, the sound of a zipper. The next thing he knows, there’s a blunt pressure, Derek pressing slowly, inexorably in.

He kind of hates how much he loves this; the hot, thick slide, the way it lights up his nerve endings from the inside out, the feeling of being pinned under a big, hard body. The way Derek plays his body like a fucking musical instrument.

But then Derek starts to move, and there’s no more room in Will’s head for anything except sensation, pressing his face into his arms to muffle his yells.

“That what you want?” Derek growls, gripping Will’s hip with his free hand as he thrusts faster. “What you don’t want them to see? Don’t want anybody to come down here and see how much you like this, how greedy you are, how much you like getting bent over and fucked?”

Will wants to reply, to refute, but he can’t. He might not like Derek, most of the time, but he fucking loves this, Derek’s big, warm hand pressing him down, Derek’s cock pounding into him.

Derek shifts the angle just slightly until he’s hammering Will’s prostate, the washer rocking slightly under him with every stroke. Will’s shout, even muffled against his arms, echoes around the basement, but he can’t help it. He’s so close, so close he probably wouldn’t care if the whole team _was_ watching. “Don’t fucking stop,” he grits out, lifting his head.

“Not gonna--stop,” Derek pants. “Not til--you come. Just like--you always do--for me.”

If Will had the slightest chance of holding out, he would, just for spite. But his orgasm rolls over him with undeniable force. He’s vaguely aware of Derek’s fingers digging into his hip, of Derek shuddering and going still above him.

What he isn’t braced for is all 200ish pounds of Derek Nurse collapsing on top of him, which is why they both go sliding to the floor, landing with a teeth-rattling thud.

“Dude,” he protests when he’s caught his breath. “A little warning?”

Derek flaps a hand vaguely in Will’s direction, still sucking in huge gasps of air.

Shaking his head, Will collapses back down onto the basement floor, only to freeze when he hears the door at the top of the stairs creak open.

* * *

“Now, I know that both of y’all are grown, so I’m only gonna ask you this one time: do I need to come down there? It’s a little too quiet for my tastes, and knowing you boys one of you probably isn’t breathing.”

There’s a pregnant pause where neither boy responds, and it’s all Bitty can do to hold back the lecture that’s been brewing in his head. Obviously they’re too immature too function. With resentment bubbling in his gut, Bitty swings the basement door open and manages not to wince as the first stair groans under his weight. One of these days the whole staircase is gonna go under.

“Alright then, I’m coming down - y’all’d better have a good reason for not responding.”

He makes it down another step only to be brought to a halt by the breathless, frantic edge of Dex’s voice.

“ _Ohmygod_ , Bitty, wait! We’re _okay_ , we’re _fine_ , but don’t come down - Nurse managed to knock some bottles off the shelves and there’s glass everywhere. We’re cleaning it up now.”

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that Nursey’s clumsier side had gotten the better of him, but there’s something about the situation that has Bitty concerned. That something being the other frog’s continued silence.

Braced for the worst-case scenario (he’d have to wear the bowtie that brings out his eyes to the murder trial when he’s called in as a witness), Bitty takes another creaky step down the rickety stairs, cursing his inability to see around the corner.

“You sure you don’t need help? I don’t want you to make Nursey do all the work - you know he doesn’t do these things on purpose.”

“No, no Bits, it’s all good,” Dex sputters, “I really, _really_ don’t want you to get hurt. Some of these pieces of glass are really big.”

“ _Chill_ , Bits,” Nursey pipes up, settling the anxiety that had been growing exponentially in Bitty’s heart with the lazy sweep of his voice alone (thank goodness he’s not dead). “By the time me and Poindexter are done cleaning this up the basement’s gonna look better than you’ve ever seen.”

“You sure you boys are okay? Because if you don’t need my help there’s a pie crust just begging to be filled.”

“Yeah, we’re good. Assuming Nursey doesn’t break anything else while we’re down here, we should be back up by the end of the century.”

There’s a tussle after that, just barely audible over the murmured chirping that Bitty can only imagine is happening down there. With a poorly concealed eye-roll, he climbs back up the stairs and closes the door behind him, happy to be rid of their drama, if only for the moment.

It’s not that Bitty doesn’t love all the frogs equally… it’s just… _well_ , Chowder is such a good, sweet boy, and Nursey is charming and handsome and intellectual… and then there’s _Dex_. He’s not terribly sweet, nor charming, and he’s certainly not easy to love… but he’s still one of the frogs, and even though it’s hard sometimes, Bitty does his best to love them all equally.

Afterall, if he doesn’t, who will?

It’s with that thought settling over him that Bitty digs towards the back of the fridge towards where he had hidden his stash of blueberries.

Because sometimes you need to work a little harder at loving someone, and sometimes that someone needs to get laid, and _sometimes_ a blueberry pie is the best that certain someone is gonna get.

_Bless his heart._


	2. Bitty’s Room

The music’s thumping downstairs, and the tub juice he’d had earlier is thrumming through his veins, but the only thing Chris can truly focus on is the warmth of Cait’s skin beneath his lips.

It’s just- she’s _perfect_.

She gets along with the team, and she’s hilarious, and she looks amazing in Sharks gear, and she’s kind of the most amazing, sexy, perfect person he’s ever met in his life.

She’s everything, and right now he’s got her half-naked in his bed, and they’re feeling good, and Chris is in love.

Unfortunately, he’s also very, very easily distracted.

“Did you hear that?” he asks, words muffled as his lips brush against the scar on her ribs. When her only response is to twine his hair between her fingers to push him down towards where she wants him, Chris does his best to focus on the task at hand.

And, like, this right here? Balanced above Cait in his bed with their shirts somewhere on the floor? It’s kind of his favorite place to be, and she’s kind of his favorite person, and as his tub-juice-clumsy fingers struggle to work at the button of her jeans, Chris can’t help but realize that he’s actually, _literally_ , the luckiest dude in the world.

Of course, that’s when he hears the noise again - muffled and nearly lost under the blaring music - but still there.

It’s only when Cait throws a pillow at his head that he realizes that she’s been waiting for _something_ , and - _gosh_ \- he wants to give her _everything_ , but the noise…

“Chris, if you don’t do something in the next five minutes I’m going to combust.”

“Shhhhhhhh,” he says, finger planted firmly over her lips as he strains to hear the sound again. It’s just, it sounds _familiar_ somehow, but he can’t place it. Or, at least, he can’t place it until he remembers the last sleepover at the Haus.

That night they had shared spooky stories and roasted marshmallows over Betsy’s burners, and it had been ‘swawesome. It had been the _best_ , because Dex and Nursey had been getting along better, and Shitty had been back for the weekend, and the tadpoles had done a really, really good job of setting up the pillow fort in the living room, and it had been _great_. Except… like, Chris hadn’t _meant_ to get spooked, but then Rans was so convincing about the ghosts that haunt the Haus, and for a moment, Chris had been convinced that a ghost had grabbed _his_ ass too...

Tonight, though, the only one that’s been grabbing his ass is Cait, and her hands are warm and soft and perfect.

 _Tonight_ should be perfect.

He should be kissing down, down, down Cait’s body until she’s writhing under his lips - and he _wants_ to - but then the noise from earlier (faint and eerie and barely there under the throbbing of the bass) pops up again, and it’s got him unnerved.

“Don’t you hear that? It sounds like a _ghost_.”

“Babe,” she sighs, weary and audibly frustrated, “the only thing I hear is the same 3OH!3 song that Holster’s been playing on repeat all night.”

“But Cait, I swear I’m not making it up- oh my gosh! Didn’t you hear it that time? It’s faint, but it’s like the ghosts are trying to talk to us! Rans is never going to believe it - what if we’re able to make contact with them?”

Sliding carefully off the bed, Chris takes a moment to straighten his clothes before rifling through the side-table that Jack had left for him. It takes a minute, but then his fingers close around the emergency flashlight that Bitty had given him as a hauswarming gift, and the surefire knowledge that he’s on the precipice of a great discovery keeps his fear at bay.

“Oh my god, Chris. _Really?_ If you’re not looking for a condom we’re going to have to have a very serious talk right now.” When Chris doesn’t immediately respond the bed creaks, and he knows that she’s judging him. “Are you going ghost hunting instead of eating me out? Is that what’s about to happen right now? Because I don’t know if you remember, but I was promised a very particular reward after our win against Penn, and I’m starting to feel neglected.”

“But Cait! The Haus ghosts are trying to communicate with me! We owe it to them to see this through!!”

There’s another moan - haunting and deep and eerie - and Chris can feel it in his toes. Something otherworldly is happening, and he can’t turn back now. At least, that was the plan before Cait’s panties hit him square in the face.

“ _Christopher Chow_ , if you walk out that door I’m going next door to Lardo’s room, and you can _bet_ that I’ll be getting off.”

In all his nineteen years of life, Chris has never, _ever_ felt so conflicted.

* * *

Derek breaks the kiss and gasps for air, his entire body thrumming. Even just kissing is so good with Will. But what’s coming next is going to be even better.

His fingers work their way down the buttons of Will’s flannel, fumbling every so often as Will bites down on the side of his neck. “Did you turn vampire when I wasn’t looking?” Derek chirps, pushing the flannel down Will’s arms to fall to the floor.

“Ha ha,” Will says, his breath gusting across the wet skin where his mouth just was. Derek can’t help but shiver. “You’re always leaving marks all over me; I should get to return the favor. Rans and Holster didn’t shut up about that last one for a fucking week.”

Derek grabs the hem of Will’s undershirt and pulls it up over his head, dropping it off to the side. “You don’t like it when I mark you up?” he mock-pouts, looking up at Will from under his lashes.

Will just rolls his eyes and tugs Derek’s sweater up until he gets the hint and raises his arm. “Whatever,” he mutters, letting his hands trail back down Derek’s arms once the sweater’s been tossed off to the side.

“Anyway,” Derek says, because they’re here for a reason, and he needs to focus. “Take your pants off and get on the bed.”

“The romance is gone,” Will sighs, but he strips off his jeans and boxers and leaves them in a pile on Bitty’s rug, crawling onto the towel Derek had spread over Bitty’s bed (he’s not a complete asshole, okay? Bitty deserves something after the way he was talking about Will, but that something doesn’t necessarily need to include lube and/or jizz all over his bed. That’s taking it too far).

The light coming in through the window makes Will’s pale skin practically glow, his muscles flexing under it as he crawls onto the bed. Derek can’t help but stare, at least until his jeans get so uncomfortable that he has to take them off.

“Do we have a plan?” Will asks, looking back over his shoulder. “Or are you just gonna stare at my ass all night?”

Derek grins, crawling up on the bed. “Oh, I have a plan. I’m gonna eat you out until you’re screaming for me. And then I’m gonna fuck you til you come.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “Big talk, Nurse. Let’s see if you can pull it off.”

Instead of answering with words, Derek runs his hands down Will’s back, stroking over his ass before spreading it wide and leaning down. He stops there for a moment, just breathing, feeling the fine tremor of Will’s muscles under his hand. Finally he leans in that last little bit, licking over Will’s hole with a flat, wet tongue.

“Fuck,” Will moans, the sheet rustling as his fists clench. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The thing Derek loves the most about this, he thinks as he really applies himself, is how absolutely fucking insane Will goes. The redhead loves getting fingered, _loves_ getting fucked, but getting rimmed just turns him into a moaning, gasping mess. It’s fucking incredible.

Derek takes his time, wrapping his hands around Will’s hips to hold him in place; the kegster is going to be going strong for at least another couple hours, and there’s no way anyone’s going to hear Will over the eardrum-shattering volume of the music from downstairs, even if (when) he does actually start screaming.

So he licks slowly, lingeringly, over and over, alternating long licks and soft kisses, waiting until Will starts whining and rocking his hips back before wriggling the tip of his tongue inside. He has to hold Will steady, but before long Will is open and sloppy, moaning wordlessly with every lick, every movement of Derek’s tongue, every brush of his lips.

Opening the little travel-size lube he’d snuck up here is tricky to do one-handed, but it’s worth it to hear the noises Will makes when Derek slips a finger in alongside his tongue, sliding it easily all the way inside. Will isn’t even using words anymore, just moaning and whimpering, getting louder and louder with each stroke of Derek’s tongue or fingers when he adds another.

His jaw starts aching after awhile, and Will is very nearly screaming, so Derek sits back on his heels, adding a third finger. Will looks phenomenal, all those long, lean muscles rippling as he moves, fucking himself back onto Derek’s fingers. Derek tucks his pinkie finger close to the others and can’t hold back a groan of his own when it slides in easily, Will’s ass slick and wet with lube and spit.

Derek is suddenly, achingly aware of his erection again, straining against the his boxer briefs. The fabric is wet and clinging at the head of his cock as he pulls them down and fumbles for the condom that he’d stashed away. Tearing the condom packet open with his teeth and rolling it on one-handed is almost second nature at this point, given how much Will hates being left empty.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, wiping them on the towel, and lines himself up. He was planning to take it slow, make it last, but Will pushes backward and they both moan in unison as the head of Derek’s cock slides in.

“Fuck,” Derek breathes, draping himself over Will’s back so he can reach around and wrap a hand around the other boy’s cock. Will feels hot and tight and perfect, gripping Derek’s cock as he slowly withdraws and then thrusts back in. He knows he’s not going to last long.

Fortunately, neither is Will, judging by the volume of his moans and the way he thrusts helplessly into Derek’s hand before pushing back to take Derek’s cock as deep inside as he can.

“That’s it,” Derek croons in his ear, slowly picking up speed. “That’s it.”

Will shifts enough to brace his hands on the wall at the end of Bitty’s bed, using the leverage to fuck himself back even harder onto Derek’s cock.

Derek can feel his orgasm looming, so he pulls out every trick he knows; twisting his hand over the head of Will’s cock, dragging his teeth over Will’s neck and shoulder, saying filthy things in his ear.

“Take it so fucking good for me,” Derek growls. “Fucking greedy for it. Wanna do this all the time; just fuck this tight little ass until you come. You’re gonna come for me, all over Bitty’s bed.”

He hears the little catch in Will’s throat that means he’s close, shaking and moaning with the need to come, so Derek goes in for the kill. “You want to come?” he asks, letting his lips brush Will’s ear. “You have to ask me.”

Will’s whole body shudders, but he still sounds belligerent when he says “Can I come?”

“Come on,” Derek chides, swiping his thumb over the head of Will’s cock. “You can do better than that. Ask me nicely, William.”

“P-please,” Will stutters, clearly trying for a softer tone. “Please can I come?”

Derek tsks, shifting closer and smiling when his next thrust makes Will cry out. “Better. Now ask me like you mean it.”

“Fuck you,” Will snarls, but the way he’s grinding his hips back onto Derek’s cock says something different.

“No, fuck _you,_ ” Derek returns, letting go of Will’s hip to grab the lube again. It’s a little sloppy, but the way Will jolts when he nudges a fingertip in alongside his cock is incredibly worth it. “Gonna fill you up, greedy boy.”

Will drops his forehead down to the bed. “Fuck. Please,” he begs. “Please please fuck please.”

“Please what?” Derek asks, doing his best to keep his voice conversational and not entirely succeeding.

But Will doesn’t even seem to notice. “Please let me come please oh fuck please please let me come--”

“Come for me,” Derek growls, biting down on Will’s shoulder.

He does, and that might actually be the hottest thing they’ve done together, Will Poindexter coming with a scream just because Derek gave him permission. His ass flexes, tightening down around Derek’s cock, and it only takes another couple of thrusts before Derek comes too, his hips moving erratically against Will before going still.

In a minute they’re going to have to get up and clean up and sneak back downstairs, but for now, Derek just breathes.

* * *

“Baby, I’m not saying you were imagining things,” Cait says, hands thrown in the air as if to hammer her point home, while the rest of the team listens in like it’s the most ‘swawesome of stories, “I _told_ you, I’m only saying that I didn’t see any ghosts last night.”

Everyone else around the table titters as Dex silently slides the Sin Bin towards him, his eyes saying everything… honestly, it’s like Chris can hear the unspoken, plaintive demand for fines.

He’s got a hand in his front pocket, fishing for his wallet, but then there’s a hand gripping at his wrist, and really, it kind of feels a little inappropriate. It kind of feels like it might look like Ransom is helping him jerk off, and -

When Chris risks a glance in Cait’s direction he can see the way that her eyes are dilating in interest, which will probably lead to a totally amazing makeout session later, but he’s pulled out of his reverie when Ransom leans close and whispers - loud enough for everyone to hear - close to his ear.

“You saw a ghost? You gotta tell me everything.” There’s a pause as Rans licks his lips, and he’s close enough where Chris can basically feel it, and wow - it’s kind of a lot. “I’ve been telling Holtzy for fuckin _years_ that the Haus is haunted.”

“I mean, I didn’t really _see_ anything? I just… I thought that I heard something? Like, there was a lot of moaning, and it sounded kind of ghost-like?”

Just like that, Ransom’s hand pulls away from Chris’ wrist, and the hushed, nearly reverent quiet of the table lifts like it was never there.

“Oh man, Chowder,” Lardo starts, a teasing grin already affixed to her face, and just like that, Chris knows he’s never going to hear the end of this, “you heard _moaning_ at a kegster, and your first thought was that it must be a ghost?”

“That’s what _I_ thought,” Cait cuts in, every word bubbling up with laughter. “I mean, people are always hooking up at kegsters.”

“Yeah, Chowder,” Nursey chirps, even as he’s flicking syrup across the table towards Dex, “they’re _always_ hooking up, right Dexy?”

Part of Chris just wants to cut off any fighting that’s about to kick off between Dex and Nursey (because they’re his best friends, and because their fighting is ridiculous, and because from the way that Dex is flushing guiltily something clearly happened to him last night that he doesn’t want to talk about) but the other part of Chris - the part that _believes_ \- wins out over any need to play referee.

“No, you guys don’t get it! It was, like, really _spooky_ and it got louder the closer I got to the door, but it didn’t sound like it was coming from the hall? It sounded like it was from another realm! And, like, no one comes upstairs anymore ever since we started charging to use the upstairs bathroom? So I don’t think anyone would have been there? And with Bitty gone for the weekend, his door would have been locked, so it couldn’t have been from _his_ room. I really, _really_ think it was a ghost!”

“But… did it try to communicate with you, or _touch_ you?” Holster snorts at that when Rans asks, but it’s like Rans doesn’t even hear him. His hand is back on Chris, this time high up on his thigh, and it’s like - Chris can’t believe that Rans is _touching_ him like this? Rans, though, he keeps talking like it’s totally normal for his hand to be that high up on his goalie’s thigh. “Because, like… they’ve _touched me_ , bro. On the _butt_.”

“Um,” Chris starts, biting his lip as the rest of the table loses their minds, chirping Ransom like it’s in fashion. “I don’t _think_ so? There was just a lot of moaning, and I could make out some words? Like, I _swear_ I heard a voice saying ‘please’, and it sounded really, really urgent. I think that the ghosts need our help, and - _oh my gosh_ , Dex! Are you okay?”

From where he’s sitting between Cait and Ransom, Chris can just barely make out the top of Dex’s head from where he had fallen out of his chair.

“Damn, Poindexter. You are never allowed to talk shit about my clumsiness again,” Nursey crows, oblivious to the way that Dex’s silence warns of certain doom. “I mean, I may not be the most graceful, but at least I don’t fall out of chairs, bro.”

It just so happens that Chris can think of at least ten separate times off the top of his head that Nursey has fallen from chairs, benches, stools and booths for no reason, but it doesn’t feel like the right time or place to say so. Especially not with the way that Dex’s entire face has gone brightly, dangerously red.

Nope, when Dex goes Code Red it’s already too late; too late to defuse the situation, and too late to save Nursey.

Except… this time, Dex doesn’t explode. His face goes a deeper shade of red when he notices Chris watching on, but he doesn’t lash out. He just gets redder, and his mouth does a little wormy wiggle, and Chris honestly can’t remember Dex _ever_ making that face.

He looks like he’s about to start _laughing_ , which -

Dex doesn’t do that with Nursey. Not at his his own expense, and not in front of the rest of the team. He just… _doesn’t_. And it’s weird. It’s _super_ weird, but before Chris can start thinking about the why of it all, Ransom’s hand lands high on his thigh again, and Cait’s hand mirrors it on the other side, and all of Chris’ thoughts go flying out of his head.

Because, like -

It’s a lot? And it’s kind of… confusing, but also super nice? Ransom’s fingers squeeze at the meat of Chris’ thigh, and it’s enough to have his attention snapping towards his captain.

“What did you see, though, when you went to investigate? Did you see the ghosts?” Ransom leans closer with each word, closer and closer until Chris can _feel_ each syllable ghosting against his skin. Ransom’s breath smells like syrup, and his eyes are so warm, and his hand is hot and firm, and it’s _so_ much -

“Oh my god,” Holster groans from somewhere to Chris’ right, “Rans is such a fucking _slut_ for ghost stories.”

\- and suddenly it all makes sense. Chris blinks. Once. Twice.

He refocuses on the scene, and the story, and he pulls back so that he can glance around the room, shrugging awkwardly when it becomes clear that everyone’s waiting to hear what he saw. Heck, even Dex and Nursey look like they’re interested, their chirping put on pause as they wait for his answer.

It just makes Chris feel worse.

“I- uh, I didn’t investigate?”

“Bro,” Ransom says, the disappointment thick in his voice, “what could have  _possibly_ been more important than investigating the Haus ghosts?”

It’s a question that Chris doesn’t know how to answer. Not with Cait still at the table. And, like, even if she wasn’t at the table, Chris has _never_ been the type to kiss and tell.

“Well, Justin. If you _need_ to know,” Cait says, all coy and delicate and soft from where she’s sitting beside him, “he was eating me out.”

The table goes wild and Chris has never loved her more.


	3. The Locker Room

“Look, Rans, I’m not saying that the ghosts don’t exist, I’m just saying that you need to lay off of Chowder.”

From the way that Justin’s staring at him, a question perched precariously on the perfectly raised arch of his brow, it’s clear that he’s not following.

“C’mon, don’t look at me like that, bro. You were all over him when you thought he had seen the Haus ghosts. Like, your hand was all over the lil dude’s thigh, and his girlfriend was right there.”

“Oh my god, Holtzy. I don’t even… your mind was in the gutter while my heart was searching for the _truth_.”

“Don’t go there, Ransypoo. You can’t pull that whole _truth searching_ bullshit on me after I’ve seen you use that line to reel chicks.”

Justin smirks at that, all mirthful and hilarious, and Adam’s kind of in love. In a bro-way. Like, he never thought that he’d find his other half playing college hockey, and he never thought that his other half would be a dude… but then he met _Justin_.

Justin, with his huge family and his bigger heart and his ridiculous cheekbones.

Justin, his partner and his confidant and his better half - on and off the ice.

It sends a warm, tingling feeling all up and down Adam’s spine. It makes him want to sing, and dance, and snuggle the fuck out of his best bro, and the best part is that he _can_. Here at Samwell, he can study and play and skate and twerk with his best bro, and no one bats an eye. He can be the best version of himself, and it’s amazing.

Which, at the end of the day, is why he’s so gung-ho about making Nursey and Dex work their shit out. He doesn’t expect them to be soulmates or anything, but if the team is going to stand a chance next year when he and Justin graduate, they’re going to need a strong defense… and the frogs will never fill that void if they’re actively trying to kill each other.

“Bro, what’s the likelihood that we roll up on Faber to find them at each other’s throats?”

Justin laughs at that, a soft little thing, stepping close enough to nudge his elbow against Adam’s.

“Nah, Holtzy, they've been getting better. Ever since our powerpoint presentation on The Importance of D-Man Dynamics they’ve really buckled down. Like, Excel says they’re going out of their way to spend more time together. It’s a good sign!”

“Does it count as a good thing when they’re always fighting?” It’s not like Adam _likes_ playing the role of the buzzkill, but it’s something he’s been losing sleep over. “I’m not saying that they’re bad players, Rans, I just know they could be amazing if they got their shit together.”

“Bro. You can’t force it. You just have to facilitate - give them the opportunity and space to make it happen - thus, our mandatory second-line defense practice sessions. Ever since we instituted them, the volume and pitch of their arguments has decreased by twenty percent. By the time we graduate, I anticipate that it will be down a strong fifty percent judging from the downward trend in my data.”

“You’re so fuckin’ smart, bro.”

Justin smiles up at him like it’s the best compliment he’s ever received - which is crazy, because Adam tells him all the time how amazing he is - and it’s an automatic response for Adam to smile back at him. It just… feels right.

Justin is the best, most intelligent, most beautiful bro a dude could ever hope for. He’s also the most polite, which is hammered home when he opens the doors to Faber for him, ushering Adam in like it’s his job. And, like, before Justin, Adam was always the one to hold doors open for others. And it wasn’t a big deal. But it’s the little things like this that make him truly appreciate their friendship. Because Justin always knows how to make him feel special.

“I just wish they could have what we have,” he sighs, picking up the conversation as they meander towards the rink.

“Bro, I don’t think _anyone_ has what we have,” Justin says, throwing a cheeky little wink his way before coming to a dead stop. “On the plus side, if they killed each other they didn’t do it on the ice.”

A quick glance onto the rink shows that he’s right. The rink is eerie in its emptiness - the marks on the ice the only sign that the frogs had been there at all.

“Well, they were scheduled to be here from seven to eight, so maybe they’re in the locker room. I’ll go check, see if they want to grab brunch with us. Pancakes, eggs benny, and some quality d-man bonding time would do us all some good.”

“See, Holtzy,” Justin says, the fondness dripping from every word as he takes a seat on the bleachers, “this is why they made us co-captains. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Bro, the feeling is totally mutual.”

They seal the Hallmark moment with a fistbump before Adam heads off towards the lockerroom. The selfish part of him that likes the quiet moments when it’s just him and Justin hopes that Dex and Nursey already set out, but the part of Adam that wants the team to succeed after he graduates hopes that it’s not too late to catch them.

After all, anything can be fixed with brunch.

* * *

“Told you I could sink more shots than you,” Will gloats, stripping his Under Armour shirt off and tossing it into his stall.

Derek’s strangely silent; when Will looks over, he’s watching with a familiar hungry look in his eyes. And fine, maybe Will arches his back a little as he peels his compression tights down his legs. So he likes it when Derek looks at him like that, like he wants to eat him alive. Sue him.

“I think we said winner’s choice,” Derek drawls, pulling his own shirt up over his head, muscles rippling under his warm brown skin. “What’ll it be?”

Will licks his lips. He knows what he wants, has known since they made the bet. He just can’t quite make the words come out. It’s so much easier when Derek takes over, pulls him into his dorm room and takes him apart, bends him over the washer in the Haus basement, drags him upstairs to fuck him in Bitty’s room.

“Hey,” Derek says, his voice softer than Will’s used to hearing it. He sits down in his stall to drag his compression tights over his feet, and the break in eye contact makes it a little easier for Will to breathe. “I’m not gonna say no, dumbass. Just tell me what you want.”

“You’re bigger than me,” Will says. Make it another challenge. That’ll work. “Think you can pick me up and fuck me?”

A few months ago the smile slowly spreading across Derek’s face would’ve had Will seeing red, but now it just sends a gentler warmth surging over his face and down his neck.

“Only one way to find out,” Derek says, digging around in his bag for a second before coming back with lube and a condom. “Shower?”

“Sure,” Will agrees, the rush of relief and the sudden draining of blood to his cock leaving him dizzy. “But I swear to God if you drop me I’m telling everyone your clumsy ass fell on me.”

Derek arches an eyebrow at him, eyes narrowed. “Keep talking, Poindexter, and see what it gets you.”

Will tries to hide the shiver that runs down his spine in the guise of tucking his clothes into his bag, but the chuckle from behind him tells him he wasn’t successful.

Somehow Derek manages to cross the locker room silently; Will jumps, yelping, when Derek’s hand lands on his ass, the sharp sound echoing in the nearly empty space.

“Get your ass in the shower or I’m starting without you,” Derek commands, brushing up against Will as he pushes past.

For a second, Will considers delaying; the mental picture of Derek in the showers, wet and jerking off, is a tantalizing one. But Will wants more, wants those big, clever hands on him, in him, so he follows.

As it is, the sight that greets him once he rounds the corner to the showers is even better than his imagination could produce. Derek has his hands braced on the wall under the shower, head tipped back, water cascading over his shoulders and down his back. The water lovingly traces each ridge and dip of muscle, collecting in the small of his back before flowing over the curve of his ass.

Will’s mouth goes dry and he stands motionless, transfixed by this rare chance to look at Derek without being observed. He knows Derek is attractive; this is a fact of nature, immutable as the seasons, inevitable as time. But he so seldom gets a chance to stop and _see_ it.

Derek turns, opening his eyes, and beckons Will over with a crook of his finger. Will goes, not bothering to pretend resistance. Not much point, when he’d flat-out asked Derek to fuck him a few minutes ago.

“Hands on the wall,” Derek orders, guiding Will into place with a hand on the small of his back. “Good.”

The hand strokes down over Will’s ass and he shivers. It feels like every inch of his skin has been sensitized, magnifying each touch of Derek’s hands incredibly.

“You’re still a little pink here,” Derek murmurs, his fingers trailing over the spot where he’d slapped Will’s ass. “Gives me all kinds of ideas. Wonder how much spanking it’d take to make your ass this pretty pink all over, hmm?”

A whimper pushes out of Will’s throat at the mental image of Derek’s hand coming down on his ass over and over again. He wants to--but it’s scary, and embarrassing, and--

Derek chuckles again, nudging Will’s feet a little further apart. “But that’s not what you wanted today, is it?”

The click of the lube opening nearly gets lost in the sound of the shower, but it’s enough warning that Will doesn’t flinch when the first slick finger slides down, pressing gently. He whimpers again when the fingertip slips easily inside his ass, still a little loose from when Derek fingered him the night before.

“There we go,” Derek rasps, pressing his mouth to Will’s shoulder, letting his teeth sink in just for a second. “Come on, let me hear you. I know you like this. Nobody else gets to hear you like this; it’s just me.”

Will closes his eyes and lets his head fall between his outstretched arms, breathing deeply and relaxing into the now-familiar feeling of Derek’s fingers working inside him. He doesn’t bother holding the sounds back; they’re embarrassing, but Derek won’t chirp him for it.

All too soon, but not soon enough, Derek has three fingers sliding in and out of Will’s ass. Will can tell from the tender spots on his neck and shoulders that Derek’s mouth has left a trail of marks in its wake, but he can’t care about that right now.

“I’m ready,” he gasps, his whole body shaking as Derek grazes his fingertips over Will’s prostate. “Derek, come on, I’m ready.”

“Yeah, you are,” Derek agrees, slowly pulling his fingers free. “Turn around for me, okay?”

Will complies, his legs shaking like he’s just skated suicides with Bitty, his heart hammering in his chest. He leans back against the shower wall and watches as Derek washes his hands under the shower spray. He tears the condom packet open, rolls the latex down over his cock, stroking a couple of times, then fills his palm with lube and does it again, leaving his cock slick and shining.

It’s not that Will isn’t expecting it, because he literally asked for this, but it’s still surprising somehow when Derek steps forward, squats down, and hooks his arms under Will’s thighs. Will has to grab onto Derek’s shoulders as the other boy stands up, his fingers digging into the muscle there. Wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist is obviously better than just letting them dangle, but it takes a couple of seconds to make it a reality.

The shower wall is cold against his back for a minute as Will braces himself, but then Derek shifts, lining himself up, and suddenly Will’s attention narrows to the blunt pressure against his hole.

“Ready?” Derek asks, his voice a little strained. He waits for Will’s nod before letting Will slide down slowly, so slowly. He halts Will’s descent when the head of his cock slips inside, his fingers digging into Will’s thighs. “Okay?”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Will says. “Come on, fuck me already.”

Derek sighs, rolling his eyes, but he loosens his grip, letting Will move down a little further.

Will lets his head fall back against the wall, savoring the slow, slick slide. It’s always so good, even the very first time they’d done this. He’d heard horror stories, had braced for his first time to be uncomfortable at best. But of fucking course Derek Nurse actually is the sex god he looks like, going slow, being careful, making it so fucking good every goddamn time that Will is secretly a little afraid he’s been ruined for sex with anyone else.

They pause for a moment once Derek’s all the way in, his hipbones pressed against the curve of Will’s ass. Will wriggles a little, but this position is the most restrained they’ve ever tried. He doesn’t have the leverage to do more than grind down; Derek’s the one with the control here, and that knowledge has the curl of arousal in Will’s belly winding tighter.

“You need to hold still or I might actually drop you,” Derek complains, pulling back a little and thrusting back in. He smiles at the noise Will makes and does it again. “That what you want?”

“I told you what I want,” Will says, hating how breathless his voice is.

Derek sets a steady rhythm, fucking Will with long, deep strokes. “Yeah, you did. You know I’ll give you what you want. Let me hear how much you like it.”

Will lets his next moan be a little louder and Derek rewards him with a deep, hungry kiss, his ever-present stubble scraping lightly against Will’s skin.

“That’s it,” Derek pants, fucking him faster. “That’s it, want to hear you--”

“Dex! Nursey!”

Holster’s voice echoing in from the locker room has them freezing in place.

“Yeah?” Derek calls back, somehow managing to make his voice sound normal. He brings one hand up to cover Will’s mouth and starts moving again, hard, fast thrusts, his eyes darkening at the muffled noises escaping from under his hand.

“You better be almost done. Mandatory d-man bonding sesh at Annie’s! Get your asses out here pronto,” Holster yells.

Derek tilts Will’s hips up slightly so his next thrust hits Will’s prostate, making him half-scream so loudly Holster would’ve had to hear it if the shower weren’t running. “Out in a minute,” Derek yells back.

“Cool,” Holster replies.

The fear of being caught and the embarrassment of how much he loves Derek fucking him mingle in Will’s stomach, mixing with his growing arousal. The press of Derek’s hand over his mouth, the fact that he can’t move, can’t do anything but take it as Derek fucks him, makes it so much worse--so much better.

The locker room door bangs shut, hopefully behind Holster, but Derek doesn’t move his hand. “Don’t know if he’s gone,” he breathes, still relentlessly fucking Will, leaning closer to speak directly in his ear. “Are you gonna come for me, or are you gonna walk over to Annie’s with your cock hard in your pants?”

Will moans desperately, barely audible behind Derek’s hand.

“You wanna come, don’t you?” Derek rasps. “Ransom and Holster could be out there in the locker room, but you’re gonna come for me. Come on, Will, baby, come for me--”

He’s not sure what does it, if it’s command or the pet name or the hand over his mouth or the way his cock is trapped between their bodies, but Will comes, his breath catching in his throat for a long, endless moment.

Derek only takes another half-dozen thrusts before he shudders, burying his face in Will’s shoulder and grinding in deep as he comes.

Will can’t resist running his fingers through Derek’s hair, rubbing them down his back, but all too soon Derek is pulling out, letting Will slide slowly down until his feet are on the wet tile floor.

They clean up in silence, but the locker room is blessedly empty when they exit the shower.

* * *

It’s only after Adam gets verbal confirmation that Dex and Nursey are coming that he heads back out to the stands, plopping down beside Justin with a contented sigh.

“So, they’re coming?” Justin asks, his attention focused down on his phone, fingers flying as he works to get another level in Candy Crush under his belt.

“Yeah, bro. They’re just finishing up in the showers, and then we’ll head over when they’re done. Get some coffee in our veins.”

“Oh my god, yes. I feel like I’ve walking around in a fog today, and the only thing that can save me is brunch at Jerry’s.”

The look on Justin’s face as his lips wrap around his words… it’s beautiful. His eyes are just, so warm, and there’s this gleeful, near-desperate tinge to his entire face over the concept of coffee - of brunch - of being together and eating good food and being good captains. And, it’s kind of bittersweet, because Adam knows that after they graduate everything will change. They’ll be living different lives, probably in different cities, and it kind of scares the shit out of him.

Because he never expected to find his other half at Samwell, but now that he’s found him he doesn’t want to let him go.


	4. The Reading Room

It’s quiet, in the reading room. Quiet and companionable and perfect, with the stars above them and the lingering haze of smoke in the air as Nursey takes a deep drag. It’s beautiful, and Larissa can’t imagine anything better.

The reading room has always been her favorite place. From the little thrill she gets stepping out onto the roof (a forbidden little feeling starting down at her toes) to the memories of sharing the space with Shitty (shotgunning for minutes - minutes that felt like hours - that felt like days - like a lifetime) to the new memories that she’s creating with the team in his absence (long talks with Bitty, improvised poetry with Nurse, long silent stretches with Dex, and snuggle puddles with Chowder)... she knows that when Shitty gave her his dibs, he was really giving her the reading room.

She loves him a little bit for it (more than a little bit, if she’s honest about her feelings for him, which she rarely is these days).

Really, she loves all of her boys.

Even when they’re at their worst. Especially when they’re at their best.

It’s part of what makes the whole team gel, really, this balance between them. Hell, it’s part of the reason that she’s never lectured Nursey and Dex on their fighting. She knows that Holster and Ransom have - she was there for the first two powerpoints - and she knows that the rest of the team gets uneasy with every chirp and taunt.

The thing is, it’s like no one stops to listen to what Dex and Nursey are actually saying to each other when they’re fighting, and it’s like no one cares to take in the way that they both burn brighter from the stimulation. For all the wounded egos and bruised edges that their arguing can leave behind, Larissa’s never gotten the sense that they don’t care about each other.

If anything, their fighting has always felt more like foreplay. An exercise leading towards something greater than their current reality.

Maybe, she thinks as she plucks the joint from Nursey’s fingers - taking a breath before holding it deep enough to burn - it’s just that she’s fucked up. Maybe, she thinks as she exhales - eyes tracing the smokes as it rises away - not everyone knows what it’s like to come from a family of fighters. Maybe they don’t know that sometimes the only way to get your feelings out is to make them sharp, and maybe they don’t know what it’s like to match that deadly passion blow for blow with affection until it morphs into something soft and vital and rich.

And maybe she’s a little high, but it doesn’t make her thoughts less meaningful. It just… spaces them out. Makes them tangible and a little fluffy. Like clouds.

“Hey, can I have that back?” Nursey mumbles, and who is she to keep him from what he needs?

“Here,” she says, passing the joint over before reaching down for her phone. It’s lighting up like crazy, notifications shining blue to get her attention, and really, that’s the danger of hanging out on the reading room. It’s just… really easy to get lost up here, with the haze of the smoke and the warmth of good company, and after Nursey’s incident last year, she’d instituted a mandatory rule that phones go on silent if you’re coming out. She doesn’t need him laid up with broken bones because someone’s text tone has startled him into rolling off the roof.

Once was enough.

So, yeah. Her fingers brush lovingly over the lockscreen before swiping the ducklings away. It only takes a minute to catch up with her notifications: an update to Bitty’s Facebook; an email from Professor Ford following up on their last thesis meeting; a few texts in the group chat; and a missed Skype call from Shitty. Just seeing that little missed call symbol has her stomach churning pleasantly (all warm and squishy and god, sometimes she’s too fucking sappy for her own good) and has her fingers tapping out a text. Of course, it doesn’t take long for Shitty to reply (he’s always been good about that - always makes her feel like she’s a priority), and it’s enough to put a dorky-ass smile on her face.

Nursey holds the joint out to her, just enough left for a final hit, but she waves it off.

“Nah, you finish it off. Shitty’s gonna Skype me in a minute, but I’ll be back after with a refill.”

“Chill,” Nurse says, sinking back into the nest of blankets he had arranged around him, looking for all the world like a baby bird. It’s probably why she’s so fond of him.

With a grunt, she rolls off her ass and onto her feet, careful to keep balanced as she makes her way towards the window to Bitty’s room. The last thing she needs is to add another name to the list of sad souls that have tumbled off the reading room. It’s a short list, but the shame attached to it is neverending. It’s the kind of thing that guarantees chirping at weddings and funerals. Poor fucking Nurse.

Shaking her head, Larissa steps through the window and half-falls, half-rolls onto Bitty’s bed. It’s tempting to take the moment to just rest, to let her body sink down into the marshmallow-soft comforter, but then Dex is walking in the room, and all she can do is focus on how soft and happy he looks. His eyes are downcast, and it looks like the muscle he pulled is still hurting if the way he’s walking is any indication, but there’s a soft smile on his lips and a flush on his cheeks that she’d call pretty if she knew it wouldn’t mortify him.

She’s tempted to say so anyways, but then Dex notices her presence on Bitty’s bed and the soft smile is gone, replaced by something a little shiftier than panic.

“Hey Dex, you heading out?” He nods, a cautious little thing, and if she were a little less high and a little less desperate to see Shitty’s dumb face, she’d probably spend more time trying to get to the bottom of it. As it is, she flings her arms out towards him, fingers grabbing at the air as if it could help. “C’mon, then. Help a bro out and give me a hand. Bitty’s bed is too fucking soft and I can’t get out.”

He laughs at that, coming forward to haul her up like she’s the lightest thing in the world. Seriously. There are _perks_ to being the manager to a team of gargantuan hockey players. Her feet hit the ground and she is _out_.

“Thanks, Dexy - gotta run,” she throws over her shoulder as she scuttles towards the hall. “Shitty’s calling for a Skype sesh and I can’t be late.”

If he responds, she doesn’t hear it, but that’s alright.

She’s got a date with a man with a ‘stache.

* * *

Will slips through the window and out to the reading room, moving a little more gingerly than usual, and Derek loses his damn mind in a rush of lust and fondness.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, pulling Will down to straddle his lap and wrapping the blanket around both of them. “You actually did it, didn’t you?”

“Not gonna check for yourself?” Will asks, lifting a challenging eyebrow.

Derek pulls him into a deep, filthy kiss, sliding his hands slowly down Will’s back. He slows down even more when he reaches the waistband of Will’s sweatpants, dipping his fingertips teasingly under the elastic waist.

He smiles into the kiss as Will shudders against him, grinding down, and finally lets his hand move lower, over the curve of Will’s ass until his fingers brush the silicone base of the plug, nestled firmly between Will’s cheeks.

“Fuck,” Derek groans, pulling back. “You actually fucking did it.”

“Repeating yourself a little there,” Will says with a smirk. “Losing some of that big vocabulary?”

Derek presses on the base of the plug, just a little, just enough to see Will’s eyelashes flutter. “You like that? Like having that plug in there, filling you up?”

Will licks his lips. “It’s not as big as you,” he says quietly.

“Greedy,” Derek chides, but his voice is fond. He can’t help it. “I know we’ve played with getting caught, but I don’t think you actually want me to fuck you up here where anybody could look up and see. Besides,” he slips a hand into his pocket. “This thing has a few functions my cock is missing.”

“Oh, yeaaaaahhh?” Will’s voice goes up sharply in pitch when Derek thumbs the button on the remote, his fingers digging sharply into Derek’s biceps. “Jesus fuck, Derek, warn a guy.”

The vibrations are barely audible, even as close together as they are, but it must feel good, judging by the way Will’s eyes slide closed. Derek takes the opportunity to tug their sweats down, their cocks bumping against each other and eliciting a breathy moan from Will.

“Shhh,” Derek urges, slicking his hand with the lube he’d tucked away next to the remote in his pocket. “Bitty or Chowder could hear you. Gotta be quiet for me.”

Will bites his lip and Derek gets lost for a minute, just watching him. The way his red-gold lashes rest on his cheekbones, fluttering slightly, the way the pink flush on his cheeks blurs his freckles, the way his teeth dent his lower lip.

_Oh, no_ , Derek thinks. He’d like to believe the warmth in his chest is just lust, just a reaction to how hot this is, but he tries not to lie to himself any more than necessary.

Fortunately, Will picks that moment to grind down, handily distracting Derek from pesky emotions. “Come on,” he breathes, his hands flexing on Derek’s arms. “Derek, c’mon, I’m so close…”

Derek gets his hand between them, wraps it around their cocks. He gets his other hand around the back of Will’s neck, pulls him in for a kiss. It’s softer than before; still urgent, with their cocks sliding slickly together, with Will gasping and moaning quietly into Derek’s mouth. But now that Derek knows what’s going on in his mind, his heart, he can feel it coming out in the kiss as well, the way his lips linger on Will’s like he never wants them to be anywhere else.

Will’s movements are getting faster, more frantic, as he chases his orgasm. Derek slides his free hand down the sweep of Will’s back, down into his pants again until he can run his fingers around the flared base of the plug.

“Derek,” Will honest-to God sobs, his voice breaking even though it’s just barely above a whisper. “Derek, please…”

And what’s he supposed to do with that, with Will writhing in his lap, begging him so sweetly? Derek gets a grip on the plug as Will’s face presses into his neck, rocking it in and out, just an inch at most. “There you go,” he murmurs, doing his best to hold off his own orgasm. “Come on, baby, want you to come for me--”

Will moans against Derek’s neck, the sound vibrating over his skin, and slick warmth coats Derek’s hand where it’s wrapped around their cocks. It’s too much, Will shaking in his arms, the graze of his teeth against Derek’s neck, the tacky slickness on his cock. Derek only barely manages to keep quiet as he comes, arching up into Will.

“--off, please, Derek,” Will begs, and Derek fumbles clumsily for the remote with the hand that isn’t covered in jizz. It takes a couple of tries, but the plug stops vibrating and Will slumps against him with a sigh.

It’s a wonderful moment, despite the chill in the air, or the way his hand itches where he didn’t quite manage to wipe it clean on the blanket. So of course Derek has to ruin it. “Good thing Lards hasn’t come back yet,” he jokes.

Will goes stiff and frozen on top of him, lifting his head from where it was resting on Derek’s shoulder. “What?”

“She said she was coming back after she finished Skyping Shitty--fuck!” Derek grabs his arm where Will had punched him. “What the fuck, Will?”

“You didn’t tell me she was coming back!” Will hisses, punching him again. “I never would’ve--that’s fucked up, Derek. Did you even think about how I’d feel if she caught us?”

Derek can literally feel his lip curl, the warmth of his feelings curdling into the burn of shame, deepin in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, yeah, can’t have anybody know that you’re slumming it with me. I knew you were ashamed of me, Poindexter, but way to rub it in my fucking face.”

Will’s face flames red and his eyes flash, shining gold in the dim light. He’s so fucking beautiful and Derek’s heart is cracking in two in his chest. He’s so stupid, he didn’t realize, and now it’s too late. Will is scrambling out from under the blanket, he’s leaving, just like Derek knew he would eventually. “Oh, like you’re rushing to tell everyone,” he snaps. “You think _I’m_ fucking slumming? The minute anyone comes around you act like I’m something you scraped off your fucking shoe.”

“I don’t--” Derek starts weakly.

“Just save it,” Will snaps, sliding gingerly through Chowder’s window. “Maybe the next guy will be dumb enough to believe you.”

Derek slumps back against the roof. He’s rubbing absently at the ache behind his breastbone, and doing his best not to cry when Bitty’s window opens again.

* * *

She’s raiding the communal weed stash, still smiling from all the duck pictures that Shitty had shared from his walks along the Harvard campus, when she hears Bitty’s window slide up and slam down. There’s a heavy, uneven tread thundering through the hall and down the stairs, and… well, shit.

Before she heads out to the reading room, contraband in hand, she makes sure to reset the whiteboard countdown back to zero.

*

“You guys were doing pretty well, you know,” she starts in once she’s settled, phone balanced on her thigh and joint snug between her fingers as she lights it. The wind licks at her face as she takes a hit, and it feels good against the sullen mood that Nursey’s throwing off in waves. “You were at a record thirty-two days since your last bullshit. Guess we’re back to square one.”

When Nurse doesn’t say anything to that, she offers him the joint. He doesn’t take it, and it’s only then (because really, she’s never seen him say no) that she bothers to really look at him.

He looks fucked in every sense of the word.

His hair is crazy in the way it only gets after a kegster or a hard-fought game, the collar of his shirt’s seen better days, and his clothes are more wrinkled than they were before.

There’s a hickey high up on his neck, swollen and raw, and there’s fucking tears in Nursey’s eyes, and he’s fucked.

Carefully, ever so carefully, she stubs out the joint before sliding closer. He smells like sex, and he looks like misery, and it’s kind of blowing Larissa’s mind right now, because she never put it together. For all the chirps that Nursey and Dex should just fuck the drama out of their systems, she had never actually considered…

“So, I’d ask if I need to kick Poindexter’s ass, but if this is anything like your usual fights, I’d probably have to kick your ass too.” Nurse huffs a laugh at that, but it doesn’t lift the mood. “Seriously though, I’ll kick his ass if I have to, Nurse. I could take him.”

“Nah. It was-” He sighs, folding in on himself to place his head between his knees, as if he could make himself small. As if his hurt would be smaller if he was too. “It was me. I fucked up.”

“What’s the likelihood that he’d say the same thing if I asked him?” It’s an honest question, and from the way that Nursey doesn’t answer, it’s pretty clear that he knows the answer. “I don’t know how long this has been going on, but I do know how you two operate. You don’t talk shit out and you spend too much energy focusing on the physical.

“Like, you’re amazing on the ice because you’ve got natural chemistry. You don’t have to work at it, and you don’t have to talk it out, and maybe that’s not good enough. Maybe you both deserve more than that, y’know?”

Nursey sighs at that. It’s a deep and gusty exhale, dripping in misery and self-pity, and if Larissa was a little less high she’d probably smack him for it. As it is, she just rolls her eyes, leaning back on the roof to take in the stars above them.

And she waits.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait long before Nursey’s straightening out, leaning back into his nest with a pathetic groan. “I don’t know how to make it better. I just… I don’t want to be any one thing to him. I don’t want to be his enemy, or his teammate, or his bro.”

“Well, what _do_ you want?”

It’s not an easy question, and she knows that there’s no easy answer, but she’s never been one to sugar coat reality. Not in her own life, and not with her frogs. She expects him to take an eternity to come up with an answer, but really, she should have known better.

“I want everything with him,” he says, and leave it to Derek Nurse to answer the hardest question like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it is. Maybe it really is that easy when it all boils down at the end of the day. It’s not Larissa’s place to call bullshit on it. Not with her history, and not with other people’s hearts. It’s just not her fucking place, so she says the only thing she can.

“Then fix it, bro. You gotta fix it.”

“Yeah. I know.” Nursey laughs at that, a quiet little bittersweet thing as he stares at the stars. “I will.”

Above them the stars keep shining, and the clouds keep moving along, and the wind keeps licking at their faces. And even though she just Skyped with Shitty, Larissa aches with how much she misses his stupid, mustachioed face.

He’d know how to fix this, and if he didn’t, he’d know how to make it lighter.

He’d make it better.


	5. Faber

Jack grew up on the ice.

Depending on who you ask, he’s _still_ growing up on the ice, but that’s beside the point.

The thing of it is that he’s always felt at home in a rink, with the ice beneath him and the sharp, slick sound of his blades cutting across the surface. It never mattered where he was, as long as he was skating.

Of course, then he came to Samwell, and everything changed. Because he went from living in his father’s shadow to forging his own path. Because he went from being surrounded by competition to being surrounded by friends - by a family of choice - by his brothers. And because he went from being alone to finding the love of his life.

Jack grew up on the ice, but it’s at Faber that he truly found himself - his heart and his soul - and where he found his future, all wrapped up in a pretty southern boy with dapper bow-ties and a penchant for baking his problems away. So, when Eric asks Jack to take him somewhere special, it only makes sense for them to make the winding walk to Faber together for a late afternoon checking session.

“You know, sweetheart, when I asked you to take me somewhere nice, I certainly didn’t think you’d take me to Faber. I’m afraid you owe me brunch.” There’s a pout firmly in place on Eric’s face, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that promises kisses later on.

Jack loves that twinkle.

“Ah, but Bits, you’ve made so much progress with your checking - imagine how you’ll do next time if we get some more practice under your belt, eh?”

Eric throws his hands up in the air at that, as if some higher power could save him from this moment. Jack should probably be offended, but all he can think is that his boyfriend is incredibly cute.

“I signed up for this, didn’t I?”

Eric sounds so put out, and he looks so beautiful in the morning light, and more than anything Jack wishes that they didn’t have to hide. He wishes that maybe he was a little less famous, and that the world was a little less bigoted, and he wishes that he could kiss his boyfriend senseless and hold his hand and make it clear to everyone how much Eric means to him.

He settles for walking a little closer into Eric’s orbit, bumping their elbows together gently in solidarity. It’s not much, as far as gestures go, but then Eric’s smiling up at him like an actual angel, and Jack has to take a moment to remind himself that he can have this. That he can be happy.

“I suppose I can’t stay too mad at you, sweetheart. You _did_ let us sleep in today - and believe me, I do appreciate that.”

The blush on Eric’s face… yeah, after all the catching up they did last night, there was no way either of them would have been able to get out of bed earlier than noon. It’s probably not the best habit to fall into, but sometimes he just can’t help it. The pull of Eric’s soft, pale skin over taut muscle… it’s too tempting to resist. Jack can feel his own cheeks warm with the memories of what they had done to each other - with each other - for each other - last night, but then Eric’s pulling him out of his reverie with a brush of his fingers against Jack’s wrist.

“You’ll have to tell me your secret, y’know. I can barely manage to get ice time at the crack of dawn - unless you’ve been planning this for weeks, I’m honestly not quite sure how you managed to get practice time so late in the day on a weekend.”

“I, uh- I might have thrown my name around a little bit to get what I wanted.” Jack doesn’t have to look over to see the indignant look on Eric’s face - that face has been committed to memory, along with the frustrated little sigh that Jack’s honestly not sure Eric realizes he’s making. “Just kidding, bud. I saw that Nursey and Dex had the afternoon blocked off for practice, and I just… used my ex-Captain privileges to take the slot.”

“Oh lord, don’t get me started on those two.” Eric huffs, taking a careful step away as they pass a group of runners. “I swear, they’re always on each other about one thing or another. Ransom and Holster don’t seem to be too worried, but I lie awake at night thinking about how the team’s going to fall apart when they graduate this spring.”

“Eh, sometimes people need time to work things out at their own pace, Bits.”

“Mr. Zimmermann, don’t you dare try to talk me down from my indignance! Those boys need to work their problems out, or they should get off the team. How am I supposed to whip this team into tip-top shape next year if our first line defensemen need to defend against each other?”

The thing is, Jack doesn’t mean to laugh. He really doesn’t, but it’s a little funny.

It gets a lot funnier when Eric stops in his tracks just to stomp his foot.

“I’m sorry bud, it’s just, Ransom and Holster have the C, the rest of the team probably hasn’t thought about who to vote captain next, and you’re already planning out how to run the team with an iron fist next year. Its, uh- it’s kind of cute.”

It only takes a second to make sure the coast is clear, but then Jack takes the moment to pull Eric in for a quick kiss. Out on campus, they don’t have the luxury of lingering, but there are moments that are worth the risk. And right now, with the way Eric’s cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are flashing, Jack can’t find it in himself to resist. He presses another kiss to Eric’s lips, just long enough to take in how soft they are - how plush.

“Come on, Bittle,” he says as he pulls away, taking in how wide Eric’s eyes are - how lucky Jack is to have Eric in his life - before stepping a safe distance away, “the sooner we finish at Faber the sooner I can take you out to dinner. Someplace nice, yeah?”

“Mr. Zimmermann, you sweet, silly, thoughtless man - why didn’t you tell me we were going to dinner afterwards? I would have brought a nicer set of clothes to change into! Oh, don’t you look at me like that, we are going to get this over with, and then we are going back to the Haus so that I can look presentable.”

Jack can feel the smile spreading across his face as Eric halfheartedly grumbles about clothing and the importance of looking your best. It’s just… Eric is the kindest, most gorgeous, most ridiculous person he’s ever known. Whether he’s grumbling, singing along to Beyonce in the shower, baking pies for the team, procrastinating on his homework, or using his fingers to open Jack up on his bed (nice and slow, the way they both like it) he’s always Jack’s favorite person in the world.

Even if he does need to eat more protein.

* * *

Will never noticed before now how _creepy_ Faber is when it’s empty. Usually he’s there with the rest of the team, loud and boisterous enough to fill any amount of empty space. Even the extra practices Ransom and Holster have assigned him and Derek aren’t this bad; they’re not alone then, and usually he’s more preoccupied with what he can talk Derek into afterward than the empty, echoing spaces.

He’s still not sure why he agreed to come when Derek texted him--okay, no, that’s a lie. It’s only been like, a day, but he misses Derek. And not just the sex, although sure, that’s part of it. He misses the little thrill of meeting Derek’s eyes, the texts they sent back and forth about nothing and anything, the conversations where they managed not to start yelling. He even misses the yelling, somehow, the way Derek’s “chill” shell cracked open to show his real feelings. This thing between them was never meant to be more than sex, just a way to get off, but somehow it got out of hand and Will can’t regret it, no matter how inconvenient it is.

It’d probably be better to just cut it off, but Will is at least honest enough with himself to acknowledge that he doesn’t want that. That’s why he’s here, slipping through the creepy, silent back halls toward the stands, just like Derek’s text had asked. Because, even though he should have learned better long ago, there’s still a part of Will’s battered heart that can’t help hoping.

He climbs up to the commentators box, where he can just barely see Derek’s dumb (soft, pretty) hair through the little window in the door. He braces himself, pulls open the door, and stops, completely and utterly dumbstruck.

“Hey,” Derek says quietly, his eyes wide. “You came.”

“I--” Will shakes his head a little, trying to restart his brain, and steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. Of all the possible scenarios he’d imagined, none of them involved Derek sitting cross-legged on a red-checkered blanket, a vase of flowers and an honest-to-God picnic basket next to him. Or the candles flickering around the small room, filling it with a warm, soft light. “Yeah? You asked me to.”

Derek’s eyes soften. “Yeah, I--I owe you an apology. Probably more than one. I said a lot of shit the other night--”

“I did, too--” Will interrupts. Fair’s fair, and he’s been seeing that little flash of hurt in Derek’s eyes in his dreams.

“Yeah, just--” Derek rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, I can totally see how you might think otherwise, but I’m not ashamed of you. And I’m not saying I don’t like the sex--I don’t think you’d believe me if I did--but it’s not enough, not on it’s own.”

Will can practically hear the sound of his hopes shattering. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, trying to hold back the stinging at the corner of his eyes, but then his brain catches up with his ears. “On it’s own?”

Even in the candlelight, Will can still see the skin darkening over Derek’s cheekbones. “I--”

There’s no way Will could stop the smile from spreading across his face even if he tried. “Derek,” he says slowly, tasting the name in his mouth, savoring the feeling of being able to use it. “Do you want to go out with me?”

And because Derek Nurse is the most maddening person on the face of the _planet_ , he smiles back, his eyes twinkling, and drawls, “Yeah, that’d be chill.”

Will rolls his eyes. “I literally _just_ asked for this.”

“Yeah you did,” Derek agrees, holding out a hand and pulling Will down onto the blanket. “You _like_ me.”

“I’m rethinking that,” Will retorts, but there’s no heat in it. How can there be, when Derek’s smiling next to him, leaning in for a kiss.

They’ve kissed so many times, fast and hot and rough, slow and gentle, but this is different. It’s a beginning, soft and sweet and full of feelings they don’t have to hide anymore. They’re both smiling, so sometimes their teeth click together, but that’s okay, Will thinks hazily, running his hands over Derek’s shoulders, up into his hair. This is real, better than any overly-perfect fantasy.

Derek tugs Will over to straddle his lap and they make out lazily, slow, drugging kisses and roaming hands. There’s no rush this time, nowhere they have to be, nothing to prove, no discovery to fear. It’s just the two of them, safe in this quiet, private space.

By the time their shirts and jackets are discarded on the floor, Will’s reconsidering his earlier stance. Derek seems hell-bent on making sure he touches every inch of Will’s skin at least twice, once with his hands and once with his mouth. It feels like Will’s been hard for hours, his cock aching in his jeans.

“Derek,” he groans, unable to stop the shiver that rushes through him when Derek’s teeth graze his nipple. “If you don’t fuck me soon I’m gonna come in my fucking jeans.”

“I mean, that could be fun,” Derek says, his lips quirking up at the corner.

Will rolls his eyes and grabs Derek’s hand, sliding it down the back of his jeans. He can tell the exact moment when Derek’s fingers brush the base of the plug, because his eyes go wide, the gray-green of his irises nearly disappearing as his pupils dilate.

“Have you been wearing that the whole fucking time?” Derek’s voice has gone all hoarse and raspy.

“I thought maybe--” Will doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Derek kisses him again, deep and hungry and desperate, pulling him closer until they’re pressed together as closely as possible.

“God,” Derek mutters, tearing his mouth away and gulping in air. “You’re so fucking hot--”

Will can actually feel himself blinking. “Me?” Derek looks amazing; the light of the candles makes his skin look even softer and warmer than it is, which is a neat trick, highlighting the ridges and curves of his muscle in gold. “I’m not the one who looks like a fucking model, Derek.”

“I have _literally_ tripped on air because I couldn’t stop looking at you,” Derek retorts, his fingers fumbling at the button on Will’s jeans. “You look like a fucking Greek statue come to life. I really thought I was going to die of unrequited lust that week that you worked on your truck at the Haus.”

They’ve got better things to do with their time than argue about who’s prettier, so Will devotes himself to getting both of them naked, although he files away Derek’s words for later consideration.

It probably shouldn’t take as long as it does to get their pants off, but Will can’t seem to stop kissing, stop touching, and Derek seems to feel the same way. But finally, finally, they’re naked, stretched out together on the blanket, nothing but skin separating them.

“What do you want, babe?” Will asks, smiling a little when Derek’s eyes widen at the endearment.

“Ride me?” Derek asks, picking up Will’s hand and brushing his lips over the knuckles. “Wanna see you.”

Will’s nodding before he can fully process the words, the mental images stealing his breath. “Yeah,” he breathes, leaning down for another kiss. “Yeah, please.”

They have to separate long enough to find the condom and lube (and he is _definitely_ chirping Derek later for including them in his romantic picnic basket), but then he’s straddling Derek as his boyfriend pulls the plug gently out, wrapping his hand around Derek’s cock and lining himself up before starting to sink slowly down, Derek’s fingers digging into his hips.

It’s overwhelming, it always is, but this feels different. Before, Will’s always been content to let Derek take the lead, to have control. This, taking control like this, it feels intimate. Intentional. It’s not something he can rationalize away as just sex, just a party, just the adrenaline rush of a good practice or an amazing game.

“God, I love you,” Derek breathes.

Will has to brace himself with his palms on Derek’s chest; he’ll never hear the end of it if he fucking falls off Derek’s cock from laughing.

“Really, Derek? Now?” he asks, when he can breathe again. “Real fucking romantic.”

Derek pouts up at him, and really, it’s just unfair how attractive he is. “I just didn’t want to wait any longer. My boyfriend’s awesome and I love him.”

“Your boyfriend wants to come,” Will retorts, rolling his eyes and doing his best to pretend he didn’t melt a little.

“Well, maybe you should get on that,” Derek says, his thumbs rubbing circles on Will’s hipbones.

Will shakes his head. “Maybe I should.”

He teases both of them at first, lifting slowly up and sliding back down just as slowly, but he’s too close to the edge to maintain that agonizingly slow pace for very long, especially with Derek spread out under him like a feast, biting his lip and making absolutely obscene noises.

“Fuck, Will,” Derek gasps, his fingers flexing on Will’s hips. “I’m so close. Touch yourself? Wanna see you.”

Wrapping his hand around his cock feels so good that Will’s whole body shakes. “Not gonna last long,” he warns, his voice shaky.

“Good,” Derek answers, his eyes dark and heavy as he watches Will’s hand move. “Wanna watch you come; so fucking gorgeous when you come for me, Will--”

“Fuck,” Will groans, his eyes sliding shut. He’s practically slamming himself down on Derek’s cock now, his orgasm so close he can almost taste it. “Derek--”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, come for me--” Derek urges.

Will’s never been able to resist those words, and today is no exception. Derek keeps fucking up into him through his orgasm, drawing it out until his arms give way and he collapses down onto Derek's chest, heedless of the sticky mess smearing between them. It’s much less relevant than the warmth of Derek’s arms around him, the way Derek tucks his face into Will’s neck.

Eventually, though, the shared body heat becomes too much, and Will has to roll to the side and just breathe, heart still pounding, chest heaving as he sucks in big gulps of air. He finds Derek’s hand, though, lacing their fingers together.

“I meant it,” Derek says after a few minutes his voice smaller than usual, more hesitant. “I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything, I just--”

Will uses their joined hands to smack Derek lightly in the chest. “I love you too, dumbass. But you couldn’t have waited until, I don’t know, any moment when I didn’t have your cock in my ass?”

“But William,” Derek coos, rolling onto his side and batting his stupid eyelashes. “It’s so _us._ ”

“I _literally_ signed up for this,” Will groans. “You better have something other than condoms and lube in that picnic basket or we’re breaking up.”

Whenever Will had thought about being with Derek, he’d never pictured sitting naked on a picnic blanket in the Faber commentator’s booth, passing a pie tin back and forth because Derek had forgotten to bring forks. But he realizes, as he makes a show of licking crumbs off his fingertips just to watch Derek’s eyes darken, he can’t imagine it any other way.

* * *

Having the opportunity to just skate with Eric is nice.

Without the necessity of checking practice (though Jack fit enough of that in to ensure Eric’s grumbling for the next few days), and without the burning fire of competition looming overhead (both against the other side and against each other… even if it was all in Jack’s head), it’s an entirely different experience.

With his blinders off, Jack can appreciate just how smooth Eric is on the ice - how fast, how graceful, how natural he is. He can take the time to watch the muscles in Eric’s lithe frame flex with every motion, and it’s possibly the most beautiful thing Jack’s ever seen. He’s completely captivating, commanding attention in a way that makes Jack’s fingers itch for his camera.

It makes him want to capture the moment.

It makes him want to capture a lifetime with Eric.

Sometimes Jack wants so much that it blocks him up - makes his words come out jumbled, if at all - but somehow, Eric hasn’t held it against him yet. It gives him hope that this can work out. That, despite all of the hurdles before him - his anxiety, his fame, his career - he might just get through this with his heart intact.

Across the rink, Eric goes into a spin, and he’s _everything_.

“Hey, Jack!” At some point between Eric going into his spin and Jack’s mooning, the spin had ended. Across the ice, Eric stands with his hands on his waist (not even winded - incredible) with an air about him of pure mischief. “I believe I was promised an intensive checking practice session. Are you just gonna watch me skate around, or are you gonna put your body on me?”

Jack’s mouth goes fucking dry, because Eric’s wearing his ‘fuck me’ smirk, and… he means checking. He must mean checking. He- nope, he’s winking and licking his lips and he doesn’t mean checking at all.

In the time it takes for Jack’s brain to reboot, Eric’s already skating towards the far side of the rink. Correction. He’s skating _backwards_ towards the far side of the rink, fingers working to pull at the hem of his shirt - lifting the material just high enough to flash a sliver of skin. A sliver is all Jack needs for his appetite to roar to life.

With a smirk of his own firmly in place, Jack skates after his boyfriend, practice completely forgotten.

Dinner will have to wait.

(And if he forgets to leave a note for the maintenance crew to turn off the lights in the commentator’s box… well, who could blame him?)


	6. The Attic

“Please,” Will whines between kisses, pressing Derek up against the door and practically writhing against him. “C’mon, babe, it’s been so long. I need you. Please?”

Derek’s always been a sucker for Will begging, and his boyfriend is exploiting that ruthlessly. “But the party…” he starts weakly, already feeling his resolve start to erode.

“We can be quick, c’mon,” Will says, grabbing Derek’s hand and bringing it down under the waistband of his boxers. “I knew we wouldn’t have much time after we got back from class, so--”

Whatever blood was still hanging on in Derek’s brain drains rapidly down to his cock when he feels the base of the plug nestled securely in Will’s ass. With the playoffs taking the majority of their time and energy, they’ve both been exhausted and not up for anything more strenuous than rushed hand jobs or the occasional blow job. It’s been weeks since Derek got to do this, got to sink inside Will and drive them both crazy.

“Babe, Jack’s downstairs,” Derek protests weakly, but Will’s eyes flutter closed as he arches his hips back against Derek’s hand. He already knows he’s not winning this argument, and he’s surprisingly okay with that, but-- “That’s like fucking with your dad in the house.”

“Didn’t bother you on spring break,” Will breathes, licking his lips.

Any resistance Derek might have put up washes away on the flood of memories; spreading Will out on the bed in his childhood room, one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, slow, almost tantric thrusts to keep the bed from creaking.

“Fuck,” he grits out, shoving Will’s boxers to the floor.

* * *

**Jack**

It’s good to be in the Haus. There are new faces - tadpoles and frogs running around with stars in their eyes (and really, Jack needs to speak with Eric, because using his autograph as incentive for the underclassmen to do their chores seems a little questionable at best) - and old faces, and even though the couch is long gone, it’s still home.

Hell, anywhere with Eric is going to be home, but here in this moment? Surrounded by his friends, Jack feels. Just… he feels _so much_.

“Jack, sweetheart, can you take this out to the boys?” From where he’s flitting around the stove like a hummingbird, Eric manages to make two pies, a plate of nachos, and a platter of mini quiches appear seemingly out of nowhere. Like everything else about his boyfriend, it’s a little bit like magic.

“Of _course_ , bud, but first you have to pay for my services. I accept Paypal or kisses.”

“Mr. Zimmermann! I feel like I’m either being swindled or chirped, and I’m not sure which one I like better.”

There’s a smirk on Eric’s face that’s just begging to be kissed away… so Jack does, and it’s the kind of kiss that he likes best. It’s slow and honey sweet, the kind of kiss that feels like coming home. Eric’s lips are soft and plush beneath Jack’s, and it’s easy - _so easy_ \- to deepen the kiss. To run the tip of his tongue along the seam of Eric’s mouth. To bite at Eric’s lips when he opens up - so sweet, and so easy.

Maybe it’s the distance between them, but it’s been well over a year since they first kissed, and it’s still a novelty to have Eric like this. To belong to him in turn.

It’s just so, so good.

It’s only the clearing of Shitty’s throat from the doorway that has Jack stepping back, lips tingling and his fingers itching to touch.

“Brahs, _c’mon_. While I’m normally all about some hot captain-on-captain kitchen shenanigans, we are _starving_ out there.”

“Oh,” Eric says, breathless in the way that always gets Jack going (and really, boner, this is not the time), “I’m so used to Dex interrupting us with fines… I suppose we got a little carried away.”

Shitty snorts at that, like he’s got the moral high ground after Jack caught him with Lardo in the guest bathroom, but he looks happy. He looks settled, and not for the first time, Jack is so grateful that he chose Samwell, because he wouldn’t have had these people in his life otherwise.

It’s something he thinks about a lot.

“Alright! Now, why don’t y’all grab a plate and we’ll get everyone fed?” Eric’s got a pie tin in each hand, and a smile on his face, and he looks delicious. He looks like everything that Jack never knew he wanted. From the way that he rolls his eyes, it’s pretty clear that he knows what Jack’s thinking, but the fond smile on his lips belies any annoyance. “Stop givin’ me those heart-eyes, sweetheart, or we’ll never get out of here.”

“You know, Jack.” Shitty drawls over his shoulder as he heads back into the living room. “You never look at _me_ with heart-eyes. How am I supposed to _feel_?”

The crowd in the living room goes crazy at that, hooting about fines and the injustice of it all, and Jack… well, Jack’s home.

* * *

Will just smirks over his shoulder when Derek pushes him toward the dresser, bending over and bracing his hands on the smooth, polished wood top. Derek’s never been more grateful for the mirror on top than he is right now, because he gets to watch the expression on Will’s face as he slowly pulls out the plug. The way Will’s mouth falls open, soft and wet and red from kissing. The way his forehead furrows and his eyelashes rest on his cheekbones.

Derek can’t resist pushing the plug back in and pulling it out again, short, shallow thrusts, just to hear the noises Will makes, the breathy little whimpers.

“C’mon,” he moans, arching his back. “I’m ready, babe, fuck me.”

Derek set the plug aside and pulls open the drawer where they have condoms and lube stashed (he’d laughed when Will started creating little caches around the attic, but really, it’s so nice not to have to step away from Will at a time like this). He rolls the latex over his cock and slicks it up, then slides two slick fingers into Will, smiling when Will whines and pushes back, trying to get them deeper.

“Der _ek!”_

“Just checking,” he says, lining himself up. “You said that plug wasn’t as big as me. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Will is slick and hot and tight around him as he starts to press inside; Derek can’t handle watching his cock disappear inside Will, not if he wants to last more than thirty seconds. So he watches Will’s face in the mirror instead, the lovely pink flush that’s spreading down his neck and chest.

“Fuck, yes,” Will breathes, pushing his hips back when Derek pauses. “Don’t stop, babe, please.”

So Derek doesn’t, not until his hips are pressed firmly against the curve of Will’s ass, and then only for a moment. He starts slow, at first, only pulling out a few inches before pushing back in, but Will begs and moans so prettily that soon he’s just fucking pounding in, his fingers gripping Will’s hips so hard he’s pretty sure they’ll leave bruises. He can’t quite bring himself to care about that, or about the way that the dresser is starting to bang rhythmically against the wall.

Not when Will is begging for more, his lips shaping Derek’s name, meeting Derek thrust for thrust, acting like the only words he can remember are “more” and “please” and “fuck” and “Derek.”

No, Derek can’t bring himself to care at all.

* * *

**Lardo**

Sheik is _decimating_ Pikachu the first time it happens.

Larissa would know, since she’s made it her mission to wipe the floor with every single one of the freshman spawn. It’s a necessary evil, and one that needed to happen sooner rather than later - just because she graduated last spring doesn’t mean she’s not the head bitch in charge, and the sooner they realize the hierarchy the better.

As it is, she’s managed to defeat all but one without blinking. Pikachu, though (she thinks his name is Beans, but he’s a mumbler, so it’s hard to tell), just won’t go down easy. It’s only a matter of time before he gets sloppy though, and she’ll be ready when it happens.

“C’mon, you frogspawn fucker,” she mumbles as Sheik rolls away in order to transform into Zelda, “Why. Won’t. You. Just. Die?!” Each syllable is punctuated by a lightning kick, but the kid won’t go down.

Finally, though - _finally_ \- Pikachu starts showing his fatigue. His reactions start getting slower, and the kid’s hushed cursing starts getting louder, and finally - _finally_ \- Larissa sees her window. It only takes a moment for Sheik to reappear on the screen. From there, it’s one move after another, culminating in a final down smash attack that has the bastard ricocheting off the screen.

Sheik is declared the winner as the rest of the team devolves into madness, and Larissa _wants_ to enjoy the moment - how she’s surrounded by her best bros - how Beans, or whatever his name is, has tears in his eyes as Bitty hands him a slice of consolation pie - or how Shitty’s thigh presses warmly against hers where they’re stationed on the over-sized armchair that Bitty brought from home last year. She wants to savor this moment forever, but all she can focus on is the repetitive banging that can just barely be heard over the ridiculous howler monkey-esque screeching that Holster’s letting out.

“Do you hear that?” She asks Shitty, lips pressed close to his ear to make sure he hears her over the yelling and joking and cheering swelling around them.

With their sides pressed so tight together, she can feel it when he turns to answer, the contact leaving her feeling warm and safe in a way she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to replicate without him.

“Hear what, Lards?”

“That fuckin’ banging from upstairs.” The blank stare he shoots her way speaks volumes, and for a moment Larissa thinks that maybe she’s imagining it. But then it happens again. “Really, you don’t hear that? Bro, it sounds like someone’s taking a baseball bat to their furniture.”

He shrugs at that before holding a hand out imploringly, drawing his face back from where he had leaned in just enough to let his puppy dog eyes work at full force.

“Well, no… but what if I _tell_ you I hear it, can I have a turn? You’ve made your point with the spawn, and it was a laugh riot, but I need to defend my honor against Chowder.”

“You had me at the puppy dog eyes, bro,” she drawls, handing over the GameCube controller with all the pomp and circumstance it requires. The wink she throws in at the end is a little flirtier than she likes to be in public, but the tub juice Shitty had insisted on (apparently nostalgia tastes a lot like drunk feels) is running through her veins, and his body is a line of heat against hers, and maybe - _sometimes_ \- she likes being a little flirty where anyone can see.

The wink he throws back? Well, it feels a little like coming home.

* * *

“More,” Will moans, his head dropping down between his arms. “Babe, please--”

“Somebody’s gonna hear,” Derek pants, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t think he could. He wants to come, wants to make Will come, but he also wants to keep doing this forever, fucking Will forever. It’s a conundrum.

Will’s moans are getting louder with every thrust, a shudder rolling up his spine like a chain reaction every time Derek bottoms out. There’s so much to see that Derek can’t quite decide where to look, whether to watch Will’s face in the mirror or the way Will’s body moves under him, all smooth, flexing muscles and liquid grace.

There aren’t any words in Will’s moans any longer, so Derek knows he’s close. He changes the angle just a little, searching, searching, until Will tenses under him, moaning even louder.

Someone _definitely_ had to hear that one.

* * *

**Chowder**

Like, the thing about everyone coming to visit for the weekend is that it’s a lot.

It’s like, so much. Chris had almost ( _almost_ ) forgotten how great, and how overwhelming it could be to have everyone sitting down in one place. Right now, though? He’s having no problem remembering. Not when he’s got Cait on one side of him and Ransom on the other, the three of them squeezed into the loveseat that had mysteriously popped up in the living room last month (and seriously, where did it even come from??).

It’s _so_ nice to be sitting down with them, their bodies bracketing him snug to his seat, but it’s also kind of a lot? Because Cait’s been nibbling at his ear all night as one of her hands rides higher and higher on his chest, and Ransom’s got both hands on him - one creeping high up on Chris’ thigh and the other tracing shapes on his lower back underneath Chris’ shirt - and, like… it’s such a good thing that they agreed not to drink tonight.

Actually, it had been Ransom who had insisted, waffling between the sure-footed captain that Chris remembered from the prior year and someone softer and a little more uncertain. He had wanted it to be completely consensual. And, like, Chris and Cait were one-hundred percent on board. It’s just… Chris feels drunk from the weight of their hands on him, and he’s ready to try this whole _thing_ that they’ve negotiated.

He’s _ready_ , but then Shitty’s throwing a controller at him, and Holster’s playing referee, and it’s all Chris can do to keep his eyes on the screen and play.

Well, that and pray that no one notices how hard he is underneath his sweats, but the main thing Chris tries to focus on is playing to win. And he’s doing pretty well at first! With Ness, he’s always been unstoppable, but with the way that Shitty’s playing, it’s pretty clear that he’s been practicing. Which… really, Chris is going to have to see what Bitty thinks, because with Shitty’s school work load, he really shouldn’t have the time to practice. Not enough where he’s actually putting up a decent fight. And really, Mr. Game & Watch is the _worst_.

Ness headbutts Mr. Game & Watch off the battlefield stage, and Chris would be more excited about the small victory, but then Ransom’s fingers start playing with the waistband of Chris’ jeans, dipping down to brush the soft skin below, and, like… Smash Bros just isn’t a priority. Not compared to how warm Ransom’s hands are against his skin - calloused and strong in a way that Cait’s hands just aren’t.

Careful to avoid bringing attention to the situation in his pants, Chris leans back further into the loveseat (and further into Cait and Ransom’s attention) and tries to keep it together long enough to finish the round.

“Chowder… did you hear that, bro?” Ransom’s breath is warm where it brushes against the shell of Chris’ ear. And, it’s a lot. It’s enough to ensure that Ness gets booted into oblivion in the split second Chris takes to refocus his attention onto the controller in his hands. “Shit, there it is again… _tell_ me you heard that.”

Ransom is gorgeous all the time, but right now, with excitement shining pretty in his eyes, he’s beyond gorgeous. He’s everything that Chris and Cait have been talking about lately - everything they’ve been wanting - and Chris wants to give him _everything_. So, at the price of his Smash Bros legacy, Chris turns his attention from the game and he listens.

And he listens some more.

And he doesn’t hear anything until suddenly he does - a high, keening moan that sounds like it’s coming from another dimension.

“Ohmygosh,” he breathes more than says, “it’s the _ghosts_.”

“I _know_!” Ransom squeals, bouncing up and down in excitement, all other plans forgotten as his hands come off of Chris’ skin and start clapping in earnest. “We have to investigate, bro!!”

From Chis’ left, he can hear the heavy sigh that Cait lets out. And, like, he feels torn, because on the one hand they’ve been planning tonight for months… on the _other_ hand, _ghosts_!!

“Okay,” she sighs fondly, voice going soft and quiet, careful to protect their privacy even as her face broadcasts her obvious frustration loud and clear, “we’re going to get to the bottom of this, and then we’re fucking, okay?”

And, just… Chris is the luckiest guy in the whole world, because he’s in love with the most amazing woman in the galaxy. He turns to tell her as much, but then Cait’s taking the controller from him and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I know, Chris,” she whispers, her lips grazing his as she leans closer into his space. “I’m amazing, and ghosts are real, and the two of you are gonna owe me. Many times over. In _many_ positions.”

If Shitty starts yelling for a rematch when Chris jumps up from the loveseat, he doesn’t really register it. All he knows is that somewhere in the Haus, a spirit is reaching out. With the love of his life behind him and their possible boyfriend in front of him, Chris takes off to investigate.

* * *

The spirit is willing, but Derek’s legs have been through an NCAA playoff series, and they’re starting to give out. Will doesn’t seem to be much better off, the fine tremors running through his entire body have him leaning so heavily on the dresser that Derek’s actually kind of worried they’re going to shatter the mirror the next time it bangs into the wall. It’s not like he’s worried about bad luck; he just wants to not have to stop and pick glass shards out of either of them. Talk about an embarrassing emergency room visit.

Will whines when Derek stops moving, lifting his head and blinking his eyes open slowly. “Babe--?!?”

“Bed,” Derek says, pulling slowly out and tugging Will upright, turning him toward the queen-size bed that takes up most of the floor space (but that was totally worth it). “Before we break the mirror.”

Will grumbles, but instead of climbing up onto the bed, he bends over the edge, bracing his hands on the mattress. And sure, they found out pretty quickly that putting the bed on risers to store stuff underneath it made it the perfect height for such things, but it’s been awhile since Will’s been so determinedly attached to a single position.

“That what you want?” Derek murmurs, lining himself back up and sinking inside in one long, hard thrust.

“Yes,” Will moans. “C’mon, babe, I’m so close.”

The bed bangs against the wall even louder than the dresser did, and the mattress creaks, to boot, but Derek resigns himself to it. At least this way there’s no chance of broken glass.

He’d put up with a lot worse to keep fucking Will.

* * *

**Holster**

Look, it’s not that Adam doesn’t _get_ that Justin’s attention isn’t exclusive to him, and it’s not that he’s about to kink-shame his best bro for trying to bang their favorite goalie and his super ‘swawesome girlfriend… it’s just that sometimes - _sometimes_ \- Adam wishes that he could be part of it too.

Because, like, it’s not that he’s super jealous or anything. They live together now, in their very own grownup apartment, and it’s ‘swawesome, but…

_Okay_ , so Adam is completely super jealous, and he’d feel worse about it, but Justin is basically his soulmate, and there’s only so many times they can hook up as bros before Adam puts his foot down and demands something more. Of course, that’s easier said than done, so Adam does the next best thing and stews in his jealousy as Justin molests their fucking frog.

He’s expecting it when they get up from the loveseat, but the whole mood’s a little off. Like, for one thing, Farmer looks super pissed. For another, they’re apparently going ghost hunting.

Which.

And _seriously_ , fuck literally everything, because Adam _has_ to follow. He’s only halfway up the stairs to the second floor when it registers that everyone else is following, but right now he’s too focused on the excited lilt of Justin’s voice and the super sketchy moaning and creaking that’s echoing from the attic.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think that either Dex or Nursey had managed to wheel a chick or two, but all night it’s just been the team, and it just… it doesn’t make sense. For a split second, Adam lets himself consider that maybe Justin and Chowder were onto something. For just a shining, shimmering moment, Adam lets himself believe, but then he’s running straight into Farmer’s back, because at some point she stopped walking?

Which.

Really, it’s fine, because she’s short as hell. The thing is, she’s not the only one that’s blocking the way.

In front of him, Justin and Chowder are smooshed together in the doorway of the attic, and the jealous part of Adam wants to pick apart how they look together - because Chowder isn’t as tall as Adam, and he’s not as strong as Adam, and he can’t fuck Justin against a wall like Adam - but then Adam actually _looks_ to see what they’re all gawking at, and…

Holy hell.

It’s not a _ghost,_ it’s a fuckening.

(Adam has never seen so many freckles before in his life.)

(It’s unexpected, to say the least.)

* * *

Derek doesn’t realize the door is open at first. In his defense, his back is to the door, no chance of movement in his peripheral vision to catch his eye. Not to mention that he’s more than a little preoccupied with fucking his boyfriend into the mattress, angling his thrusts just right to nail Will’s prostate with every stroke. He’s only managed to get Will to come untouched once before, but from the way his breath is sobbing out of his mouth, today might just be number two--

He’s not quite sure what catches his attention; maybe Chowder or Ransom gasps, maybe Caitlin makes that adorable squeaking noise she makes when she’s surprised. Maybe it’s a change in the air of the room.

Whatever it is, Derek throws a look over his shoulder and only muscle memory keeps him from freezing in place. Because Chowder and Ransom are crowded into the attic doorway, with Caitlin and Holster wide-eyed behind them.

Derek has no idea what to do, but he’s pretty sure a time-out is in order.

“Whaa?” Will lifts his forehead from the bed, already whining. “Babe, seriously, I was right fucking there--”

“Will,” Derek interrupts, although a childish part of him wants to let Will keep going. But all the eyes he can see are already so wide their friends might hurt themselves if they get any bigger. “Time out.”

Will opens his mouth to argue (always--Derek shouldn’t love that so much), but when he follows the direction of Derek’s gaze, his face flushes a dark, dull red, so hot Derek can practically feel it.

“Uh,” Will says weakly.

“A little privacy?” Derek says, raising his eyebrows.

* * *

**Bitty**

In hindsight, Bitty should know better than to stay behind when the rest of the team goes running off somewhere, but it’s difficult sometimes. _Someone_ has to stay behind to be the adult, and at the end of the day, Bitty knows that he’s the only one that’s gonna take the time to pause the game and and put the cups and bottles onto the coffee table so that they won’t be knocked over when everyone thunders back.

Normally he’d be happy to wait them all out - there has been many a pie baked in the quiet moments when he’s been left behind - but in the space of a moment the excited ruckus that had been making its way upstairs goes quiet.

_Too_ quiet.

Now, Bitty’s been taking care of these boys since his freshman year, so he knows well enough that a quiet like this - all silent and sudden - can only mean bad things. That’s why he detours into the kitchen long enough to arm himself with a rolling pin before running upstairs to handle whatever kind of mess the team’s gotten into in his absence.

The problem _is_ , he hits something of a roadblock about halfway up the stairs towards the attic. It takes some well-placed jabs with the rolling pin and some strongly-worded threats for him to make his way through, but finally he pushes past everyone - the spawn and the graduates and his _boyfriend_ and dear lord, everyone is here. It’s only after he manages to squeeze past Farmer into the threshold of the attic that Bitty realizes just _why_ everyone’s come to a complete standstill.

He will never, ever get the image out of his head.

“ _Oh_ , dear lord! I cannot- _oh_ my _goodness_ ,” he says, spinning around to avoid staring at how Dex looks so small underneath Nursey, only to come face-to-leering-face with Ransom and Chowder. “Close the door, Ransom! What is _wrong_ with you two? I swear, just standing there like they aren’t in the middle of something.”

They’re still just… staring. It’s like the moment after Bitty’s put a freshly baked pie out on the table when everyone goes quiet and hungry. The moment when Bitty knows they forget that he’s even in the room.

Now, if this was just a _pie_ , that would be one thing.

But these are his frogs. And Bitty is armed.

Raising the rolling pin above his head, Bitty unleashes an unholy yell before brandishing it at them - close enough to make an impression and far enough to avoid going to the emergency room - and it’s enough to have the onlookers turning on their heels and running down the stairs.

Bitty has _never_ in his life felt more powerful (though the night that he danced to Six Inch in nothing more than a pair of heels while Jack watched is a close second), but then he remembers just what’s happening behind him, and the powerful feeling melts away into something a little closer to second-hand mortification and an all-encompassing need for Jesus.

“Alright, then. Y’all seem to have this covered, so I’m just gonna…”

He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence, choosing instead to slam the door closed and to beat a hasty retreat down the stairs. He doesn’t stop running until he’s in the kitchen, and it’s only then that he allows himself to drape dramatically across the kitchen table. Behind his eyelids he can still see the image of Nursey balls-deep in Dex, and Bitty cannot imagine a worse fate. It’s like seeing his _children_. His _frogs_. It’s just… it’s not _done_.

“So, uh… Bits?” Holster asks, and from his sly tone Bitty already knows that he’s not going to like what Holster’s about to say. “Remember when you said Dex needed to get the stick out of his ass?”

“And remember when you said he wouldn’t know what to do with something up there?” Ransom chimes in, and really, Bitty just can’t recall a single instance where their excellent memories worked for good rather than evil. It takes a lot of effort, but he forces himself up from the table in order to stare them down properly.

“Because,” Holster picks up again, smirk riding high on his face in a way that makes him look like an evil, blonde Jolly Green Giant, “I’m pretty sure he knows what to do with it now.”

“You boys best get out of my kitchen before I kick you out. You too, Jack, don’t you start thinking that I can’t hear you laughin’ it up out there. I need y’all to get _out_ , I need to bake a pie or three, and I need to pray.”

With shaky hands, Bitty starts to gather the ingredients for a chocolate pecan pie as the rest of the team filters back into the living room. It’s not the easiest recipe, and it’s not one that he makes often, but right now he needs a challenge. He needs to get out of his head, and the best way to do that is to bake.

From somewhere above (and lord knows, Bitty knows exactly where it’s coming from) a steady stream of moaning starts up again. He knows that the twitch in his eye isn’t a healthy thing, and he knows that he’s gonna have to have a long, _long_ talk with Nursey and Dex about respect and boundaries and sound-proofing the attic, but for now, he just focuses on baking.

Because he asked for this.

He really, _really_ did.

* * *

“You were right,” Will says, slumping down against the mattress after the door closes behind Bitty. “That was way worse than fucking with my dad in the house.”

“Do you wanna stop?” Derek asks, starting to pull out.

Will’s hand clamps around his wrist, dragging Derek’s hand around his hip and further down to wrap around his cock. “Don’t you fucking dare, babe.”

“But--are you still hard?” Derek can’t help looking incredulously at the back of Will’s head.

The blush spreads down Will’s shoulders. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he mumbles.

“Oh, yeah?” Derek can’t help but smile as he thrusts back in, as Will moans for him. “You like knowing everybody in the Haus can hear you? They saw you, you know. Saw how gorgeous you look all bent over for me. You gonna let them hear how much you love getting fucked?”

“Fuck,” Will gasps, his whole body shaking. “Derek, please--”

Will’s not going to last much longer, Derek can tell, so he goes for it, fucking him hard and fast, just the way he likes. “Come on, baby. Want them to hear you come for me--”

He’s pretty sure they can hear it at the lax house when Will comes, despite his best efforts to muffle his scream in the blanket. Derek isn’t far behind, despite the interruption, but he’ll worry about that once he’s in his right mind again. Right now, the tight squeeze of Will’s ass around his cock is the last thing he needs to come, his fingers digging into Will’s hips as he thrusts deep one last time.

It takes a supreme effort of will (or effort of Derek, whatever), but he manages not to just collapse in an exhausted heap on top of his boyfriend afterward, because they’d probably just end up on the floor. He manages to dispose of the condom and get them on the bed, at least, before his energy runs out, but then he’s got Will wrapped around him, warm and soft like he only usually is after sex. It’s perfect, really. It’s everything Derek wanted but never thought he’d get to have.

“It’s a shame we’re never going downstairs again,” Will mumbles. “Think we can escape out the window?”

“I bet we can rig up like a picnic basket on a rope, and if we ask really nicely, Bitty’ll probably send up pie every day,” Derek jokes.

Will makes a grumbling sound as he looks up. “I suppose you’re going to rig up this basket with all the tools you own?”

Derek flutters his eyelashes, laughing harder when Will rolls his eyes. “But, baby, you know how much I love watching you work.”

When Will snuggles close again, grumbling under his breath, Derek can’t think of a time when he’s ever been happier.


End file.
